


Caught in the Act

by et_cetera55



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-01
Updated: 2010-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/et_cetera55/pseuds/et_cetera55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has noticed a change in Sherlock’s behaviour and can’t shake the feeling that Lestrade is involved…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Act

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://sevilemar.livejournal.com/profile)[**sevilemar**](http://sevilemar.livejournal.com/) ’s prompt over at [](http://221b-slash-fest.livejournal.com/profile)[**221b_slash_fest**](http://221b-slash-fest.livejournal.com/). Many, _many_ thanks to my wonderful beta [](http://warriorbot.livejournal.com/profile)[**warriorbot**](http://warriorbot.livejournal.com/) – I couldn’t have done this without her!

John knows that something is… different… slightly off… He has been living (and working) with Sherlock for nearly twelve months now and things had settled into a routine. Sherlock would alternate between frenetic energy when they had a new case to solve or while he carried out his latest experiment (that always somehow seemed to involve human body parts being left around the flat), and utter apathy when he simply locked himself in his room and refused to come out for days on end or moped around the flat, torturing his violin (and John’s ears).

But now, now Sherlock seems to be changing his routine. There is nothing concrete, nothing John can really put his finger on… the man just seems… distracted. Definitely not himself.

For example, this case Lestrade called them out to today – John doesn’t understand why Sherlock even went. _John_ had it figured out as soon as he saw the crime scene and if Sherlock hadn’t worked it out before he even got out of his armchair then John would eat his hat. So why did they go? And even more to the point – why was Sherlock currently in the police station ‘helping Lestrade tie up loose ends’ while he sent John out to buy some food so they could actually eat tonight? If John didn’t know any better, if he didn’t know it was just his unrequited desire for his flatmate talking, he would say there was something going on between Sherlock and Lestrade. But that couldn’t be true. Oh John had noticed the DI practically drooling over Sherlock on many occasions but Sherlock himself – John would be surprised if the man even knew what sex was. He probably considered it one of those unimportant things like the revolution of the Earth around the Sun.

Still.

Perhaps John would just drop by the police station on his way home from the supermarket, meet up with Sherlock and they could go home together. Maybe they could even eat dinner together on the sofa, watching some film or other, Sherlock pointing out how it was so patently illogical, John just enjoying their close proximity.

* * *

As the desk sergeant lets him through with a nod, John’s head is full of popcorn and James Bond and quiet nights in, all paranoid thoughts completely forgotten. Well, they are until John gets into the squad room and walks up to Lestrade’s office, getting close enough to see through the rather large gap where the door has been left ajar. Sherlock is still there. Sherlock is _definitely_ still there.

In fact Sherlock is sitting on the DI’s chair, shirt undone to the waist, legs spread, revealing a rather obvious tent in his trousers, his face turned towards the corner of the office. Towards where Lestrade is standing, jacket and tie removed, running Sherlock’s scarf between his fingers, pulling it taut and slackening the pressure alternately.

John watches, silent with – is it shock or jealousy? He doesn’t know – but he watches as Lestrade starts to move towards Sherlock. _Prowl_ might be a better description, Sherlock following the DI’s movements with his eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to do this to you all day,” Lestrade growls.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” is Sherlock’s response which John suspects was supposed to sound sarcastic but actually sounds husky and desperate.

John is caught. He tries desperately to decide what he should do. If he makes his presence known now there will be embarrassment all round. (Ok, maybe not for Sherlock because he has a somewhat shaky grasp on social conventions at the best of times, but Lestrade would be embarrassed. And John would be mortified.) He probably should just go home and forget about everything he has seen… but as Lestrade reaches the chair, moving to straddle Sherlock’s legs, and leans over, kissing him hard, John cannot tear himself away.

Sherlock is responding equally fervently, his hands coming up to wrap around the DI’s shoulders, pulling him down further. Lestrade pulls back slightly, causing Sherlock to give a quiet moan of disapproval but it changes to approbation as Lestrade starts paying attention to Sherlock’s neck. His eyes flutter shut but then open wide and he gasps as Lestrade reaches a particularly sensitive spot. For the briefest of moments Sherlock looks directly at John… But then he shuts his eyes again, moaning and tilting his head back, clearly caught up completely in what they are doing. John lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Sherlock can’t have seen then. Or he wouldn’t have carried on. John trembles a little with relief that he must have got away with it.

It does make him realise how visible he is though, standing right in front of the doorway. If he is going to stay (and he realises with shame that does nothing to change his mind that there is no way he can leave now, no way he can stop watching the scene playing out in front of him) he needs to move. As silently as he can he walks over to a seat and rolls it to where he can just about see through the door, but hopefully they won’t see him. Given the way Lestrade is practically rubbing himself up against Sherlock, who is now baring the other side of his neck for Lestrade’s attentions, neither of them would notice him anyway. John shifts in the seat slightly, trying to find a position where his trousers aren’t imprisoning him quite so much.

Lestrade pulls back once more.

“Get up,” he commands, tugging at Sherlock’s open shirt.

Sherlock does so, quickly, losing no time in shedding the shirt and starting on unbuckling his belt whilst the DI kicks the chair out from under him. It spins on its casters away from them. Lestrade stands there, watching, waiting, his back towards John – but John doesn’t need to see his face to know what he must be feeling. Not when Sherlock is standing there, having dropped his trousers and briefs to the floor, his dark eyes boring into DI, clearly utterly unashamed by his own nakedness, by his cock standing flushed and erect.

Lestrade takes a step closer. And then another, moving into Sherlock’s space. Sherlock steps back, and again the DI moves forwards until Sherlock’s back is pressed flat against the wall. Lestrade slowly, deliberately raises his hands, still holding the scarf, and starts to wrap it about Sherlock’s neck, crossing the ends over. One more step in and he is kissing Sherlock again, but this time John can see his hands start to apply tension to the scarf, can hear Sherlock’s breathing getting more ragged. John’s medical instinct starts to kick in, telling him he needs to stop them, Sherlock is going to choke, but then Lestrade pulls back, releasing the tension and allowing Sherlock to heave a deep breath.

“More. Please?” Sherlock sounds hoarse.

Lestrade pauses, cocking his head, and then pulls his hands apart again, pressing his mouth hard against Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s chest heaves with breaths he can’t take even as his hips rock back and forwards against Lestrade, and Lestrade is moving back against him, the two men practically rutting against the wall. Just as John is starting to get worried again Lestrade lets go of the scarf once more.

“Lestrade, please.” Sherlock doesn’t only sound hoarse, he sounds _desperate_. “I _want_ you.”

John thinks he hears a murmured “God yes,” as the DI turns and starts lifting piles of paperwork off his desk. Sherlock apparently has a much quicker solution: he just sweeps them all off onto the floor where they lie in jumbled heaps.

“Sherlock…” the DI is clearly trying to sound annoyed but when Sherlock rubs past him to stand at the end of the desk Lestrade moans with obvious desire. John wants to moan himself, his eyes closing as he imagines that soft, smooth skin rubbing against his own trousers. His hand moves almost involuntarily to his groin. No. He can’t. Just being there, just watching is bad enough. He won’t…

When he opens his eyes Lestrade is fumbling in a drawer for something, fishing out a bottle that is very familiar to John. In fact, a similar bottle is currently sitting in the drawer beside John’s bed. But for Lestrade to have it in his _office_ , this can’t be a one off, he and Sherlock must have been in there before… needing…

John is brought back to the present by the sight of Lestrade taking Sherlock by the shoulders, turning him round to face the desk, and then slowly bending him over until Sherlock’s torso is lying flat on it, his head turned away from the door. John’s gaze is caught by the slim body, the muscles rippling along Sherlock’s back as he shifts slightly, spreading his legs.

Lestrade pumps the lube onto his fingers and John has to bite his lip at the sight of those fingers rubbing over Sherlock’s arse, slipping their way between his cheeks, _entering_ him. Sherlock’s breathing is ragged, his soft moans echoing through the room as Lestrade bends over him, fisting his free hand in the scarf still around Sherlock’s neck.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” The deep, husky demand is clear even from where John is sitting.

“You. _Please_.” John feels as desperate as Sherlock sounds. He _needs_ to touch himself, to try to ease some of the tension coiled tightly through him. Slowly, hesitantly, lust not entirely masking the guilt he is feeling, John starts to palm himself.

Lestrade has undone his trousers now - he doesn’t seem to be bothering with taking them off. John swallows hard when he realises why Lestrade doesn’t need to – the Detective Inspector is not wearing any underwear. Has not been wearing any underwear _all day_. John shifts in his seat as the sight in front of him, the friction of his own hand rubbing over his groin, the memory of Lestrade at the crime scene earlier – knowing he was going commando – makes his own underwear almost unbearably tight.

And when Lestrade rolls a condom over his erection, coating it in lube, and positions himself behind Sherlock, it is all John can do to stifle a whimper. John presses down hard on his cock, trying (unsuccessfully) to regain some control over his body as Lestrade pushes forwards. And Sherlock, oh _Sherlock_ pushes _back_.

Lestrade grabs Sherlock’s hips with one hand, thrusting whilst pulling Sherlock back onto him. John can’t see where Lestrade’s other hand is but a sudden hoarse cry from Sherlock helps him imagine where it might be, imagine that strong hand curled around Sherlock’s cock.

John’s hand is moving, his hips bucking upwards from the chair, in time to the thrusts of the two men, getting harder and faster and wilder…

John can’t see it, but he hears Sherlock come with a shout. He has to grit his teeth, tense every muscle to stop himself from crying out too. He watches, panting hard, pressing down against his cock, as with a few more thrusts Lestrade is throwing his head back, groaning as he comes hard inside Sherlock.

It is not until Lestrade starts pulling his trousers back up that John suddenly realises with a start where he is, what he has just done. He needs to leave _now_. He starts to fumble with the bags that lie piled up around his feet, trying to be as quiet as possible, trying to ignore his throbbing cock.

“John…”

It’s Sherlock.

John swallows and slowly looks back up to see his flatmate, still sprawled naked across the desk, staring at him with an almost _predatory_ glint in his eyes.

“Won’t you join us? It’s _much_ more fun than merely watching, I assure you.”

John freezes, shock overcoming the lust he had been feeling such a brief moment ago.

Lestrade has now finished doing up his trousers, has stepped back from the desk, and is also watching John. John does a double take as he realises Lestrade is not looking at him with embarrassment or hatred, but with naked desire.

Almost of their own accord John’s hands release the bags of shopping and he stands up. He feels humiliated and ashamed but also so unbelievably turned on by the offer.

Sherlock props his head up on one hand and reaches out to John with the other, gesturing, “You’ve clearly not finished. Let us help…” Lestrade simply reaches up and pulls the door wide open.

Still dazed and really not sure why he is doing what he is doing John walks slowly into the office, looking only at Sherlock’s outstretched hand. As he moves in, he is startled by Lestrade kicking the door shut behind him.

John comes to a halt, now staring straight ahead as if on parade. What the hell is he doing here? He even manages to stay looking straight ahead when he feels hot breath fan across the back of his neck. He tries not to imagine how close Lestrade must be standing behind him right now.

“John…”

Instinctively John looks towards his flatmate, his flatmate who is now slowly, sensuously pushing himself off the desk and standing up. And as much as John wants to look away again he can’t, not from the glorious man in front of him, all lines and sinews and muscle.

Sherlock is only inches away from him now, that intense gaze focused on him entirely, sending shivers through him.

“You have to say yes if you want it John. _We_ want it. But do you…”

“God yes.” It is little more than a hoarse whisper but it seems to be enough because Sherlock’s lips suddenly descend on his own and they are kissing, hard and fast, clumsy and desperate as John tries to get as much of Sherlock as he possibly can. Lestrade’s hands are now trailing down his back, working their way under his jumper, soft fingers tracing across his skin. The fingers move round until they are working on his belt, fumbling with the buckle, driving John crazy as they brush against his throbbing cock. He moans softly with relief as the belt and buttons are finally undone and his trousers are pushed down to sit around his ankles. Sherlock takes advantage of John’s distraction to sweep his tongue into John’s mouth, licking over his tongue, whilst pressing his naked body up against John, rubbing himself against John. John moans again.

“Now, now Sherlock. Share nicely.” The sudden voice, low and insistent in his ear takes John by surprise. Sherlock pauses mid kiss and steps back slightly. John shivers a little as cold air hits him but it is soon forgotten as Sherlock starts kissing him once more. John is vaguely aware of Sherlock moving one hand around him, reaching out to Lestrade, but is really finding it very difficult to focus on anything at the moment other than the pressure mounting in his groin.

Sherlock, still kissing him, starts slowly edging to one side, confusing John until he realises that Sherlock is making room for Lestrade whom he is pulling around. John breaks off the kiss, needing to make eye contact with Lestrade, needing to see what the man is thinking after having not been able to see his face for the entirety of the proceedings thus far.

John feels his cock twitch as he catches sight of the man, pupils blown wide, face a picture of lust and want and _need_. Lestrade maintains eye contact as he steps slowly forwards, placing his fingers inside the waist band of John’s briefs. He carefully pulls the briefs over John’s erection and then starts to pull them down, sinking down himself as he does so until he is on his knees in front of John.

John can’t stifle his gasp as Lestrade takes hold of the base of his cock with one hand. The man produces a condom and swiftly and efficiently unrolls it over John, John trying not to buck his hips at the sensation of Lestrade’s fingers rubbing sensuously over him, but any control he has left is lost when Lestrade’s mouth quickly follows his fingers and John’s cock is engulfed in _heat_.

John can feel Lestrade’s tongue moving over him, moving against _that_ spot and he can’t stop the cry of pleasure. Sherlock cups his fingers under John’s chin, turning John to look at him once more, and then Sherlock’s mouth is pressing against his own again. The kiss is wet and messy. John can barely coordinate himself, intense pleasure rocking through him. Sherlock seems to realise how difficult he is finding it as he moves until he is mouthing and kissing at John’s neck, licking and sucking.

Lestrade is taking him deeper now, keeping up an insistent rhythm. John can barely see through the haze of pleasure. Even as Sherlock sucks and bites on his neck, he feels the man’s long fingers tracing patterns down his back, running off the bottom of his jumper to touch his back, his skin tingling where it is touched. The fingers move lower still and John can only take shallow, shuddering breaths: the incredible sensations Lestrade is creating with his tongue and the promise Sherlock’s fingers are offering becoming too much for him. The fingers are removed temporarily, but then returned and John nearly comes there and then when he realises they are now covered in lube and _where_ Sherlock must have got that lube from. Now slick, they slide easily between his cheeks and as they reach his anus, circling round it, _pushing_ in, Lestrade takes him deeper still until he is hitting the back of Lestrade’s throat and John is coming hard, his hips thrusting as the sensation rocks through him.

 

When the haze of pleasure finally starts to clear, John realises he is still standing, trousers round his ankles, his legs starting to tremble slightly with exhaustion. In fact he seems to mostly still be standing only because Sherlock is holding him up. He can feel himself blushing, doesn’t know where to look. Certainly not down, because he can just see out of the edge of his vision that Lestrade is now sitting back on his heels, his head still level with John’s groin.

Sherlock must have magicked a chair from somewhere because he starts gently easing John down into one. Lestrade still hasn’t moved. John can feel the man’s eyes boring into him. John is starting to get the feeling they are both waiting for him to say something. But what?

“I… um… I…” There really is nothing he can think of to say. Silence again. He tries once more, “I… didn’t mean… I mean…shouldn’t have…”

“Oh for goodness sake!” Sherlock talks over him. “You surely don’t still think that I was being that indiscreet _accidentally_ do you?”

“Wha…?”

“I can assure you John, if I wanted a secret relationship then you would know nothing at all about it. As it is…”

“You mean,” John tries to get his head around what Sherlock is telling him. “You wanted me to find out?”

“Well why else would I have gone to that crime scene – and really Lestrade! You could have come up with something even slightly interesting!”

“Yes Sherlock. You have told me that several times now.” Lestrade sounds put upon (and a little hoarse, but John is not thinking about that because he will just start blushing again).

“So it was all done… you left the door open… for…”

“Yes.” It is Lestrade who answers. “Sherlock thought it would be the best way to introduce you to what we had in mind. Apparently my way of _just asking_ you was not nearly exciting enough.”

John is stunned. They had _discussed_ this! _Both_ of them wanted this!

“You’re not… I mean you didn’t…” now it is apparently Lestrade’s turn to stutter. “It was ok?”

“Of course it was ok,” Sherlock answers impatiently before John can get a word in. “His pupils were dilated, his pulse was racing…”

Lestrade cut him off, “Sherlock, trust me on this: John may not be ok about it.”

John realises that is his cue to say something. “I… it was…” He can feel Sherlock rolling his eyes beside him. “Itwasamazing,” he rushes out. Lestrade’s face breaks into a grin.

“See!” Sherlock crows. But Lestrade ignores him, instead finally standing up and moving to the other side of the table, gathering the discarded clothes lying strewn on the floor. John remembers that his trousers are still round his ankles and fumbling, hurriedly pulls them back on as Lestrade flings items of clothing at Sherlock.

“Get dressed.”

“But why end it so soon?” Sherlock is almost whining.

“Because I am _old_ Sherlock and I need a little recovery time. I propose we pick up again at your flat. If John’s willing that is.”

John is definitely willing (although he is quite glad that Lestrade has insisted on recovery time – he is hardly a teenager any more either).

“Right then. Let’s go.”

“Clothes, Sherlock.”

John shares a shy, bemused glance with Lestrade, still a little unsure of where he now stands with the man, but looking forward to finding out.

* * *

Finally ready they troop out of the office, picking up John’s shopping as they go. As they make their way out of the squad room Sergeant Donovan walks in. She looks from one to the other of them, looking more – well John can only describe it as shocked – as her gaze moves across them.

“Night Sally,” Lestrade says, cheerily.

“Night sir,” she says, a little hesitantly.

As they get outside and wait for the taxi that Sherlock insists on John asks, “What was wrong with Sergeant Donovan?”

Lestrade groans, “I don’t know how, but she knows. She definitely knows.”

“Well I would have thought it was so obvious that even _she_ couldn’t miss it.” Sherlock says, as if it is the most dull topic of conversation in the world. “The room must smell of sex to anyone who enters it, we are all clearly displaying the symptoms of post-coital relaxation and Greg’s shirt isn’t done up correctly.

Lestrade groans again. John wonders if the DI wishes the ground would swallow him up as much as John does. He will never be able to look her in the eye again.

Sherlock, however, seems totally unfazed.

* * *

They reach 221b and John unlocks the door Sherlock bounds up the stairs, Lestrade and John following when Mrs Hudson pops her head around her front door.

“You look happy, Sherlock.”

“That’s because I _am_ happy, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock crows.

“Well that’s nice dear. Have a good evening you three, but, please, do try not to be _too_ noisy will you – some of us have an early start tomorrow.” And with that, smiling what John feels is a rather too knowing smile at them all, she closes the door once more.

Lestrade and John share a final, humiliated glance, before following Sherlock up the stairs. Hopefully whatever the great consulting detective has planned will distract them sufficiently…


End file.
